


mon amour

by allsovacant



Series: johnlock•actually [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: And lo! Leev said "Let there be a Valentine sex ---", Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, I am loving the French language, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Romance, Valentine Fic, Valentine sex, and all the sugar and spice with a pinch of angst, as IF YOU DON'T KNOW ME, happy valentine's day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 07:27:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17783144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allsovacant/pseuds/allsovacant
Summary: I just want John to be Sherlock's date--and more. *grins*I'm that stubborn. So here's your porn.





	mon amour

**Author's Note:**

> mon amour - Fr. - _my love_

Sherlock bolted up the stairs to 221b two steps at a time. He promised John he would be home early from NSY for that Valentines' lie-in they had planned for the evening. It just turned six and John would probably be home.

Upon reaching their flat Sherlock inserted his key and opened the door. His whole being instinctively searched for John's presence almost tuning out unnecessary sounds. Greeted by the familiar smell from the kitchen; of chamomile tea, a take away Thai cuisine and John's smell, Sherlock closed his eyes to breathe in his favourite presence.

_There's no place like home, a home that smells of John._

He smiled at the thought as he shrugged off his coat and hanged it on the hook by the door. Bending down to arrange the case folders on the coffee table he left that morning, he then finds a note. An automatic smile appeared on his face as his fingers trace John's doctor-calligraphy.

_Just went to Tesco to grab milk. You forgot to tell me that the one on the fridge is your experiment solution. Bloody hell, Sherlock. I almost put it in my tea._

_Wait for me. I love you._

_\- Your John_

Sherlock bit his lower lip to prevent himself from giggling like a school girl. He pocketed the note with a huge grin on his face and goes to the fridge to discard the milk carton with his experiment. He could always make a new one. He should've thought about that earlier morning though. John would've been there when he arrived.

The thing is he missed his man already.

Sherlock never thought that a day would come when he would eventually miss someone other than his skull—the _friend_ , you know.

To prevent himself from sulking, he decided to freshen up. He was about to head in the bathroom when his phone rings. He walked back to the living room to get his phone from his coat pocket. Phone at hand, he sat on his armchair frowning at the screen and the unknown number flashing in it. Nevertheless, using his professional voice, he clicked the green button.

"If I were you, I will forget any attempt of the scheme before you open your mouth. Or in a matter of ten seconds the National Defense of—"

A familiar sound of laugh that came from the other line caused him to stop.

"Christ— _love_ , it's _John_."

And just like that, at the sound of the word, "love", relief overpours Sherlock.

"Oh. John, what happened to your phone?"

There was some noise in the background that he couldn't comprehend. Some sort of... _chairs being dragged and... the sound of dishes? John's in a restaurant?_

"John? Where are you? What's that noise?" He asked promptly.

"I'm uh—close—to a restaurant—near Tesco. Listen, my phone is there on the kitchen table, I forgot it. Also, can you do me a favour?—" John replied to him rather in a hurry.

"Of course." He answered, but obviously, you cannot prevent a curious Sherlock Holmes from deducing what he can to unravel the mystery of his boyfriend's whereabouts.

Sherlock kept on listening to the background noises that he let John's voice be drowned a bit so that he could deduce where John is. _Tables, metal scratching the floor, tiled—No, rough cement, pebbled? Someone doing a sound check? That's a clarinet! Oh! OH—oboe, a trombone? Orchestra! Interesting. Where are you, John Watson?_

Sherlock couldn't seem to make out anything from the unusual except that the sounds are definitely coming from a high-class restaurant. A restaurant that caters a lot of customers and has a background orchestra that plays while the customers are eating. _An exclusive restaurant?_

_Is John in a restaurant with... someone? Is that the reason why he had left his phone?_

A pang of jealousy stabbed him in the chest as he willed himself to stop throwing his phone on the wall for John is _still_ talking in the other line.

"—you come here?"

" _John_ ," he called out, willing his voice to be calm. He was calm. But the hint of jealousy was there, crystal clear in his own voice. He cringed just by hearing it.

"John." He says again, rather forcefully. There, he was mad. His thoughts never refrain from giving him detailed visual images of John holding a woman's hand, of another man's hand. John kissing someone other than him. He closed his eyes as he felt them getting warm.

John didn't answer. Automatically, he checked the call, it was still connected. He turned the speaker on while placing his phone on the coffee table. No answer. John never does that—unless John's in a pub with the company of others. But there are no others. Why did John—where is John?

_No. No. No. No.. NO._

Sherlock took a deep breath. He could feel anger boiling inside him. Stirring his senses, causing his mind palace to erupt in chaos. _Breathe_ , John had said before. _In, out, in out, count to ten._ Ten seconds John had told him _._ He combed his hair.

And as if the man was sitting beside him, he heard his name being called. "Sherlock—Sherlock? Are you alright? Will you breathe—"

However, he never let John finish. A single beep echoed around the flat as Sherlock ended the call.

#

He transfered to the couch, suddenly feeling out of his element. His hands steeple under his chin as close his eyes.

It seems like he will be spending his first Valentine's day alone. But then again, what's new?

John didn't return the call. That says it all.

***

When Sherlock finally opened his eyes it was already dark outside. He checked his phone, no missed calls, no text messages, even _annoying_ Mycroft isn't texting him. _Dull, tedious, boring_. He does some stretching in the couch then gets up. He was on his way to his bedroom for a change of clothes when the buzzer sounds. He glanced at the door with hesitation. What if it was John? What would he say?

Sherlock took careful steps and stood in front of the door, with one last deep breath he opens it. To his utter disappointment, it was Detective Inspector Lestrade.

"Uh—"

"What?" Sherlock snapped while he deduce the man in front of him.

_Too much perspiration, running all around London—a case? No, boring. Stop it._

"What do you want, Lestrade?" He snapped at the man again. Greg walked forward and said to him, "You need to come with me," while casually putting a pair of cuffs, locking them over his wrists.

In a matter of ten minutes, Sherlock finds himself dressed in his coat and scarf, cuffed and dragged behind the backseat of a police car.

Well, well, well. The game is on once again.

#

They drove under twenty minutes. And after that, Sherlock was freed in front of a wide lawn and the police car sped off. He shrugged. Sherlock lights his torch surveying the odd place around him. It seemed to be a private space in between two buildings. He continued to walk the pathway pointing his torch here and there. Eventually, the freshly cut lawn was replaced by a rough cement and a restaurant sign.

The path lead to a building with five floors, the first being a restaurant and with no lights in it. But it does have a note in the front glass doors saying it was 'Under renovation'. That explained the absence of light.

He smirked. Quite spot-on. Standing there all alone, he decided that he'll play whatever game the NSY had laid out in front of him. Pushing the glass doors open he murmured to himself halfheartedly— _The game is on, even without John._

#

Sherlock never thought that the building was wide and long inside. So he continued walking the white marble-tiled floor. He surveyed the place as if he was a hawk looking for corpses or mutilated parts. But to his disappointment once again, there were none. The place was clean and good as new. He deduced that it would probably be opening soon.

 _Dear God—this is so boring_. He mentally scolded himself that he allowed Lestrade to drag him there.

Sherlock glanced around on the first floor once again, and since he's already there, he'll check out the other floors and be disappointed again. But when he reached the top of the stairs, the second floor comes to life.

Sherlock stared in awe as he took in the change of his surroundings. Yellow and white fairy lights hang from the ceiling while a chandelier decorate the center. An elegant white table in the center, a candlelit dinner for two and—his John, standing beside the table. His John with a soft smile in his face.

And just like that, Sherlock's mood could lighten up this messed up world.

 

***

When John opened his mouth to greet Sherlock the occasion of the day, his boyfriend never let him finish. For he found himself out of breath as Sherlock snogged the life out of him. Mummy and Daddy Holmes' suggestion of a private dinner really worked. After that in between an hour of interrogation, here they are back in the silence and security of their flat. He let himself be dragged by a still sulking consulting detective with such determination.

"Are you still mad at me?" John asked in the darkness as Sherlock began to unbutton their shirts. When he tried to pull over his jumper, Sherlock swatted his hands and insisted that he would be the one to get him naked—which was definitely fine by John.

"No... I realised... I never had the reason to do so.." He heard Sherlock answer in a whisper.

"Liar."

He countered that made Sherlock chuckle. That deep baritone sound that seems to envelop him.

"You are allowed to get mad at me Sherlock, I've asked your parents not to tell you. It's just... I wanted to give you a celebration that you would remember."

As Sherlock pushed him on their bed, he frantically shimmied out of his boxers and jeans as the man in front of him does the same.

"John," Upon hearing his name, John looked up and found Sherlock's gaze pinning him to where he is. "I would never ask of you of...those fancy things. But know that I appreciate it. What you have done. All those efforts. I loved that dinner. And now, here, I just... I just want to be with you." Sherlock whispered.

John smiled, warmth started to blossom in his chest. "Of course."

When Sherlock climbed on the bed, John spread his legs as his boyfriend straddled on his lap. Their warm naked skin touching made them gasped in unison.

"I love you," Sherlock breathed over his face in between nipping his lower lip.

John caught his breath as Sherlock bit hard, "I love you too, so much..." John whispered back.

And with an admirable force, he pushed Sherlock down the bed as and loomed over him.

Their heated gazes met, hands touching one another. John lowered his hand on Sherlock's thick length and pulls.

A groan escaped Sherlock's lips and John bends down to taste it. Soon their tongues collide and fenced with one another. John grounded his hips which earned  another groan of lust from the man under him. They rocked in a rhythm that only they could hear. As the building pressure of pleasure bloomed inside them their lips met once again. John made his way below Sherlock and understanding so, the man spread his legs so John could settle in between. He looked up and saw Sherlock propped on his elbow and looking down at him. Eyes clouded with immeasurable lust, breathing heavily in anticipation that mirrored his, John holds Sherlock's length in one hand as his other hand splayed on the firm muscles of Sherlock's stomach. He bowed down slowly licking a wet strip under Sherlock's shaft ending in a moan-earning suction of the flushed velvet head.

"God, you taste so good." John breathed over the head of Sherlock's length causing the man to buck his hips.

He giggled involuntarily and before it could gain any reaction, he swallowed  Sherlock's length once again in a slow languid motion. Deep-throating was difficult, considering Sherlock's _well-endowed_... when stimulated perfectly. But John didn't care. He loved it. He loved doing it—making Sherlock lose control.

On cue, a loud smack resounded around them as Sherlock gripped the sheets hard, that John worried of Sherlock's fingers.

" _John_." Sherlock purred above him in a ragged voice, followed by deep intakes of breath. Afraid he was overwhelming Sherlock, John released Sherlock's shaft. Using the pre-cum dripping over it, he smeared the flushed length with it before swallowing again. He repeated it twice before licking the swollen glistening slit that resulting with Sherlock writhing in pleasure beneath him.

He breathed in time of his strokes and continues to do so as he crawled over Sherlock again. His own erection jutting in front of him proudly. When he looked at Sherlock, he finds him eyeing his length hungrily. Then all of a sudden, Sherlock's on his knees pushing him down reversing their position.

"Easy, you," John chuckled low as he whispered over Sherlock's ear. He licked his way to that long column of a neck with Sherlock leaning back his head so that John could have easy access.

Mixed with sweat, cum, and desire, Sherlock tasted _everything_ John could want.

" _More_..." Sherlock breathed above him while long sinewy fingers raked his scalp making him shiver. John tapped on Sherlock's shoulder and the man moves higher upon understanding what John intended to do.

Time to let his man have his much-awaited release.

***

Sherlock couldn't breathe. He wanted to tell John. But he couldn't. He wouldn't. He doesn't want to stop. It was so good fucking John Watson's mouth that Sherlock thought he could survive with just sex and John Watson—except, John himself, wouldn't allow that. Sherlock will definitely be forced to eat.

His hands gripped hard on the headbord as he rocked his length inside John's mouth. Sherlock counted his breath. He looked down groaning again as he found John looking at him, cheeks hollowing and swallowing him whole, disconcerted. He felt John's mouth sucking one of his flushed sacs before a single digit, slid between the cheeks of his arse making him writhe in pleasure, _again_.

"Oh, God... _There_ , right there... John, John, _John_ —"

He thrusted again and again then he stopped, letting John breathe. John fumbled his sacs delicately making his eyes roll over his head. John's clearly enjoying himself while Sherlock suffered with pleasure.

" _John... please._.." Sherlock whined. He felt John's stroke over the sensitized head of his length making him melt.

"What do you want love?" John murmured while licking his shaft.

"I want you inside... please..." He begged.

***

And who would say _NO_ to a _begging_ Sherlock Holmes?

John slowly guided Sherlock to lie down on the bed. He got up giving his boyfriend the time to breathe. Then he walked towards the bedside drawer fishing out the tube of lube, a condom and the basin on the floor with the wet flannels in it.

He was on his way back to the bed when he heard Sherlock's trembling voice.

" _Bare,_ John. _I want you_ bare."

Sherlock declared to him, eyes volleying on the condom and his erection. John's mouth watered as Sherlock made a show of touching his chest, eyes closed, tweaking his erect nipples and stroking up and down the flushed length while groaning impatiently.

Still following the movement of those long fingers, John gave a terse nod and a sensual smile, "Bare, it is."

Good thing, they're both clean. One of the advantages of being a doctor. A quarterly test is always added on their schedules.

John climbed back on the bed, in between Sherlock's legs. He stroked his length to attention by watching Sherlock do the same. Moonlight basked the sinewy pale figure lying on the bed, eyes still closed and breathing heavily. John licked his dry lips before leaning down to Sherlock's ear as he whispered, "God, you're so beautiful."

Then John crawled over Sherlock again, kissing him hungrily. He nipped his way down Sherlock's torso, leaving small red suction marks as he goes. _This will be a sight tomorrow_. He grinned to himself.

"Fu—John... _John_..." Sherlock frustratingly moaned above him.

When John made it to Sherlock's legs, his erection was as straight as an eight-inch ruler. God, he wanted to slam himself already into something. So his hips does a little wiggle over the sheets.

The contact made him curse under his breath. God, he couldn't wait anymore.

"Sherlock, lift your legs love, and spread them wide and lovely for me," John ordered, surprising himself even at the calmness of his voice.

Sherlock obeyed dutifully, and now John's face to face with his boyfriend's beautiful arse. He couldn't help but ravish them with little biting and kisses. By doing so, it made the velvet head of Sherlock's length drip with pre-cum again. John obviously, never missed the opportunity to lick it off. Then he grabbed the tube of lube smearing almost half of it over his palm and his erection.

***

Sherlock felt the first intrusion of John's lubed finger inside his hole as he bucked his hips to counter it. Filling half of him, _in, out, in, out,_ stretching him with precise movements. The pain was there from the very beginning but he never feared. John was guiding him as well to breathe. Sherlock rocked his hips in sync when John added another digit. By the time John's middle finger made it knuckle-deep inside him, they were both panting and sweating. The smell of sex in the stale air of their room enveloped them, heightening their senses and the passionate love-making between them.

Sherlock felt he's in ecstasy. No—it was much better than that. John was a drug now looming over him and shouldering his leg while he automatically wrapped the other on his lover's waist. A drug that was looking at him with such intensity, John took his breath away. Sherlock, then, allowed his eyes to roam all over John—John's body, John's face, John's strong biceps and thighs. That thin path of blonde chest hair all the way to John's navel and another path leading to his groin. Sherlock loved them in contrast to that silvery-grey hair atop John's head.

He loves John. _His John._ His John that was smiling down at him. Looking at him fondly, with loving eyes and the feeling of being safe.

" _John_..." He called softly, not sure if the man had heard him. What a wonder—a mystery—how this man overwhelmed him in all pleasurable ways. John then bends down to him, freehand raked his curls damped with sweat. Sherlock closed his eyes as the feeling of a tingling sensation flowed all over his body. He could feel John's pulse, John's breathing, erratic, all over him, as their lips connect once more and then over and over again. Both discovering angles that fit them perfectly. And at the height of that passionate kissing, Sherlock felt John's length surged inside him. In one swift sweetest motion, John took him apart and then made him whole again. He was broken in pieces once and John was there as well to mend him. His John who had planned an exquisite Valentine gift for him, and still managed to top that one. Just being _with him_ , being _inside him._ And Sherlock wouldn't want anything else in the world. Just John.

***

John slammed his hips over and over again while making sure that Sherlock wouldn't get hurt. Damn, control he has. But Sherlock seems to sense that he was holding back. Sherlock squirmed a bit beneath him and both of them groaned in pleasure brought by that new angle. He glanced down at his brilliant lover and found Sherlock stroking himself clumsily, eyes closed again, lips parted and forehead dripping with sweat. John wanted to do that as well. He felt so alpha that he wants to taste every single part of Sherlock. He was hungry with lust and desire to consume Sherlock.

John leaned down to Sherlock's ear, he needed to hear him. He planted his palms on the sides of Sherlock's head careful not to lose their connection. Their damp foreheads now touching.

"Jesus—Am I _hurting_ you? Talk to me, my love." John whispered in a lust clouded voice as he slowed his pace a bit. He watched as Sherlock's eyes opened slowly. A darker shade of green eyeing him with so much affection. Sherlock blinked twice before those wild eyes found his sapphire blue.

"No... _No_... But you're... _You're_ close— _I'm_ close." Sherlock murmured that John could barely hear it. But seriously, trust Sherlock to monitor his lover's orgasm other than his.

"Bloody hell—Yes I am. That's why—"

"Do it—" Sherlock cuts him.

" _Do it,_ John. _Let go, mon amour_."

And that's just what John needed. An element of surprise. Not that he hadn't heard Sherlock speak in French. But _this, now?_ While they are making love? Sherlock's voice was pure sex. He felt his balls tighten while Sherlock continues to serenade him with the French language, "Oui, mon amour...", "Encore,", "Bien," And John came with a shout inside his lover and an orgasm that he hadn't experienced ever since his glory days.

He leaned down once again to capture Sherlock's lips while pounding eagerly. Riding the last moments of orgasm while helping Sherlock reach his own climax. He slowed down, he hurried, syncing their movements while Sherlock stroke himself and their tongues spear from one another. And when John thrusted hard home while sucking a bite on the sweat-adored collarbone in front of him, Sherlock comes with a grunt dripping his fluid all over them.

They stayed that way for a couple of minutes until the stickiness was unbearable. John pulled out, crawling on the other side to get the wet flannels. He handed one to Sherlock and the other he used to clean himself. When finished, both of them tossed the tainted fabrics on the floor without saying anything.

Then John went back to his space beside Sherlock. He lay on his side while Sherlock pillowed his palms under his cheek. And that's all they did, staring into each other's eyes, sated, filled, satisfied, contented, _happy_.

With their breathing finally syncing as one, Sherlock reached a hand to John, and John holds him squeezing lightly.

"Happy Valentine's Day, John, I love you so much," Sherlock whispered while looking at John with eyes that equaled the weight of those words.

John was surprised as tears fell from his eyes. He breathed out, letting go of the emotions that are coursing inside him. He cleared his throat and leaned toward Sherlock, his mouth ghosting against those perfectly contoured lips. _"Je t'aime pour toujours,_ Happy Valentine's Day _,"_ John replied, sealing it with a kiss.

 

***END***

 

 _Je t'aime pour toujours_ \- Fr. - _I love you forever and always_

**Author's Note:**

> Grammarly checked my non-premium mistakes. Those worthy to be checked via premium, (tenses right? I have a HUGE problem with that) ALL my fault.  
> Thank you for writhing, flinching and reading with me. Chat me up on Twitter @allsovacant. Happy Valentine's Day!


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